


i sing of arms and the man

by Jack_R



Category: Classical Greece and Rome History & Literature RPF, Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, M/M, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:40:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23492578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jack_R/pseuds/Jack_R
Summary: ‘You think me a far worthier man than I am,’ he says, then.‘No,’ Napoleone says, softly, ‘I don’t think I do at all.’
Relationships: Napoleon Bonaparte/William Laurence
Comments: 23
Kudos: 129





	i sing of arms and the man

They let him keep the ship.

It’s a fine one, all in all: a septireme, sturdy, new and well-built, for all the good it does them in the end. Laurentius' father pays for it personally, for even if he has always disagreed with the path his son chose to pursue, he knows at that point that Pompey is the last chance the dying republic has: and Laurentius is made a navarch, so he of course will follow his general as he seeks to confront the tyrant at Actium.

(A few days after they lose the battle, he receives the letter from his mother: it says his father has slit his wrists.)

But they let him keep the ship, dripping with the blood of good Romans who ended up choosing the wrong side, and tell him to serve the man who murdered his general. Laurentius does not answer immediately.

(They bury Laurentius’ father during the night, without procession, without singers, wailing women and actors. There is no feast, no eulogy, no great pyre fit for a man who was a knight, descended from a family line begot by Apollo himself: instead, his slaves put him in an urn and sneak into the family tomb by night like a pack of thieves.)

(He learns about this only later, of course: at the time, he is at Actium, many miles away from Rome, and they tell him that the tyrant is a merciful man and has chosen to forgive all of those who served Pompey, if they will only swear to follow him from now. They say he does this for the good of Rome. Laurentius has never met the man and does not meet him then either: but in the end, it makes little difference.)

(He has always been loyal to Rome.)

They let him keep the ship. Her name is Fides.

The Gods really do have a rather perverse sense of humour, he thinks, privately.

\---

They have been sailing for four days now, straight from Alexandria to Rome, as their orders said: it’s November, so the sea is dark and chilly and Laurentius feels uncomfortable as he stares at the horizon, with no land in sight. They take the open sea because it is the fastest option: the shifty-eyed fellow that handed them their cargo in Berenice stressed that there is less time that they have been told there was.

It has only been four years since Actium, and Laurentius fought for the losing side. His hopes for any advancement through the ranks have been dashed, but he still has a ship, a rank and a head on his shoulders: if they are not in Rome on time, he fears he might lose all three.

‘Navarch, sir,’ the centurion assigned to his ship says, as Laurentius paces at the deck.

He turns, sees the man, pale and trying not to show it, and a shiver runs down his spine.

‘Yes, what is it?,’ he says, instead, more harshly than he would like. He is a knight, a Roman citizen, and a noble man: yet he has served at the sea since he reached seventeen, the first time a man of his status might gain posting, and perhaps it shows.

‘Sir, the egg - it has hardened,’ the centurion says, and Laurentius takes in a sharp breath.

‘Are you sure?,’ he has to ask, but the other man sharply nods, and his brief hopes are quickly dashed. He stares at the sea for a few moments. ‘Then - well. I suppose there is not much to do, is there? Bring it to my cabin, then.’

The words stumble as they fall out of his mouth, but the centurion mercifully ignores that as he hurries to the hold. Laurentius steadies himself by reaching for the wooden railing of his ship.

They’ve sailed on a requisitioned merchant ship from the port of Berenice through the Erythraean Sea - because the Persians do not normally allow the Roman fleet to sail that close to their doorstep - and then they were ferried over the tiny strip of Egyptian soil that separates Mare Nostrum from the world that lies beyond it, and reached Fides in a time that Laurentius would have never thought to be possible, yet all of this is going to be for naught: for the dragon egg they are carrying, dark and shiny and hidden in the ship’s hold, is about to hatch.

Laurentius breathes out, lets go off the railing and descends to the lower deck.

\---

It takes only four more days.

Laurentius spends most of it in his cabin, staring desperately at the egg and - well, speaking to it, at a certain point. He has had some education, contrary to what he might have wished as a child, and is somehow familiar with the stories of Romulus and his Roma: how the man found an egg, how he held it, and spoke to it, and waited - and how it hatched, and how his brother then greedily reached out for the hatchling, and so Romulus took up arms against his brother and killed him, and became the first man to ever tame a dragon.

‘Why, dear, I suppose I am to be the Remus in this history,’ he says somewhat grimly on the third day. ‘You are to belong to the dictator himself, you see: and I shall have to snatch you from him, if for a brief moment, since we are not going to get you to him in time.’

The crew avoids him, with some fear: they like him well enough, but everyone makes their own judgement as to what will happen to him once the dictator learns that not only a mere navarch failed to complete his order, but had the gall to tame a dragon meant for him personally.

Rufinus, for all it is worth, tries to talk to him about it: ‘Surely, Laurentius, we could just lock the beast in the hold and let him come fetch it himself,’ he says, bravely, but Laurentius shakes his head with dry amusement.

‘Yes, let us hatch the dictator’s dragon and have him go feral, that would be marvelous,’ he says, flatly, and the younger trierarch sighs. ‘No, I will not hear a word of it, certainly not, and neither will I sentence any of you to bear his wrath in my stead: I have vowed to serve Rome, and so I will, until my last breath.’

Rufinus tries, still, ‘Laurentius-’, but he waves his hand resolutely.

‘No, trierarch, that is enough,’ he says, resolutely, and the other man falls silent, realising he has crossed a line. ‘Besides,’ Laurentius says, somewhat more calmly, ‘I have no family. It will be easier.’

That is not true, of course: his mother and brothers might still live, but as far as he knows, he is dead to them, so it does not matter much either way.

Rufinus nods, grimly, and leaves him alone with his egg.

‘That is done, then,’ he says, to no one in particular, and then clasps together his hands and looks at the egg. ‘Would you like to hear some Homer, my dear? At the very least, I can make sure I do not deliver you to the dictator completely uneducated. That would not do, would it,’ he says, mimicking his old grammarian, and then he smiles bitterly and moves into a quiet recitation of the Iliad.

\---

The egg hatches in the night: he remembers a sound, and then he’s awake and shouting at the whole ship to bring him a harness and some meat, because that is as far as his somehow lacking education in the realm of dragon-riding goes, and then there is a lot of confused shouting and the flickering light of torches before the egg cracks, one more time, and the creature blinks at him with some confusion.

‘This is a bit loud,’ it says, slowly. ‘I do not think I expected it to be this loud.’

Laurentius stares at the dragonet - and it is most certainly a dragonet, he observes faintly as the little creature shakes itself of the shell and gazes up at him, shiny and black (although he thinks there might be splotches of a different colour on him, it is not easy to see in the torchlight) - and then he says, ‘I am sorry, my dear. I am a soldier, you see - we do not lead quiet lives.’

He hears then the sounds of men barging in into the cabin, and reaches out a hand to quiet them down, while the dragon watches.

‘Am I to be a soldier with you, then?,’ it asks, curiously.

Laurentius sharply inhales, aware that he is being watched.

‘No - at least I do not think so, my dear. You are to be brought to the dictator himself, see - he is a great general and a great soldier, of course,’ he says, careful to maintain a neutral tone, ‘but as it happens, you are stuck with me for now, at least until we reach Rome.’

The dragon looks at him with some consideration.

‘I do not think I would like to be with the dictator, however important he is,’ he says, decidedly. ‘I do know that I like you, however. I remember you’ve recited me poetry, when I was in the egg, and that was very nice. If you do not mind, I think I’d like to stay with you.’

‘Why - of course I do not mind you, dear, it’s that - I am not very important at all, you see, and the dictator,’ Laurentius fumbles a bit, and then dragon huffs a bit.

‘Well, I don’t care about the dictator, and I don’t mind that you are not important,’ and Laurentius hears hushed voices behind himself and closes his eyes in silent prayer. ‘But I am hungry,’ the precocious creature does add, somehow less confidently, and Laurentius remembers that this poor thing, however clever it seems, has just hatched and has no one in this world, and something in him aches.

Laurentius quietly reaches out to his crew for the harness. ‘I think we can take care of that, my dear,’ he says quietly, and then takes the dragon on the top deck.

\---

He names the dragon Temerarius, after the dictator’s ship at Actium, and silently resigns himself to unusually cruel and painful punishment.

Temerarius, wonderfully clever and quick that he is, wishes to hear little of the man that he is supposed to belong to. ‘You keep talking of the dictator, even though I have told you I don’t care for him, and that’s not very nice of you at all, Laurentius: I like you, and I don’t care what the dictator or anyone else says, and I will stay with you - unless you don’t like me, of course,‘ and he seems to shrink a bit then, so Laurentius quickly assures him that is not it at all and plies his lovely beast with some flying and food and poetry. (Quietly, he wishes it was that easy.)

In a few days, they land at Messene in Sicily, and Laurentius finds a state courier: he gives him a letter addressed to his prefect, and another - a very brief one - to the dictator himself, and then watches him leave. The news should reach Rome in two days, on the swiftest horses the country has to offer: his ship will take ten more before they anchor at Ostia, and from there, head to the capital.

He had hoped - well, he had hoped that the dragon would take to the dictator in the end, but that does not seem very likely now. It should not be so - Temerarius is young yet, and won’t be even a month old when they reach Rome, and the dictator is said to be a very impressive man, but as matters stand right now, he doubts that even Romulus reborn would be enough to impress Temerarius. He is a very - emphatic creature when he wants to be.

That it is not the worst part of it at all, however: no, the true tragedy lies in the fact that Laurentius does like: well, Temerarius. He is a navarch - he has always loved the sea, even when it caused him grief, and stayed faithful to it, and yet: the first flight with Temerarius takes his breath away.

(They rise, far above the sea, and Laurentius thinks that this is perhaps how the gods feel: and Temerarius says, hesitantly, ’Say, Laurentius - what if we flew away? Then we could go somewhere else, and you could serve some other country, and you wouldn’t have to give me to the dictator,’ and Laurentius closes his eyes, swallows and says, ‘I am afraid we can’t do that, my dear.’)

It is all very surreal: he feels like a character in one of the Greek tragedies he learned by heart, or better, a member of the audience who has heard the chorus and knows how the play is going to end, yet is still unable to do anything at all about it. They row out of Messene on a low wind, unusual for the season, and head towards the north, to Rome: he stands on the deck with Temerarius and in a low voice explains to him what town or harbour they are passing by as they sail along the coast, his heart feeling tighter as he watches the land of his ancestors pass him by.

It feels like an ending, of sorts. Laurentius gently lays his hand on Temerarius and does not think of the third letter he sent, not with the state courier, but by the ordinary means.

\---

_Laurentius greets his mother, domina._

_Soon, you will learn what has happened to me, and I ask you not to grieve for me. Perhaps I presume much in supposing that you might, but please forgive me this last indiscretion. I have long failed to satiate you with my correspondence, as well as with my choices: indeed, it might mollify you somehow that I at long last admit you were right, and that I have brought upon myself much grief in not listening to you._

_I am sure you will learn from other about the details of my last failure, and perhaps you already have, so I will not recount my unfortunate fate: allow me to say for myself that I have only ever longed to serve Rome with the greatest devotion, and have lived my life accordingly. When I reflect at last, I must confess I do regret giving my life to unworthy men. For that, I have only myself to blame. Do not worry yourself about what you, or father, could have done differently: my virtues and good deeds I attribute all to you, and my failings are my own. Pray do not let my shortcomings reflect on your honour, and that of the family - indeed, if you choose not to bury me in the family tomb, I will not be offended, and my spirit will rest more easily for knowing I have only shamed myself._

_It remains only to beg you to take the greatest care of your health and give my sincerest greetings to my brothers. Take care of yourself, dearest family._

_Farewell._

\---

They are already waiting for them in the port.

Temerarius stirs, uneasily, and whispers, as quietly as such a large creature - indeed, he has grown much since he has hatched, and Laurentius feels a sort of silent pride in his chest - ‘Laurentius?’, and he nods at him and says, ‘Well, here we are, at last, my dear.’

To his genuine surprise, it is Muratius - the brother in law of the dictator, his right hand and fiercest general - who awaits them on land, and the man measures him with some scepticism. ‘Laurentius, was it,’ he says, and it is not really a question, but Laurentius salutes nonetheless and gets out a quick ‘yes sir, ave,’ before Muratius shifts his gaze to Temerarius.

‘You couldn’t have waited a month, could you?,’ he says, flat, and the dragon bristles a bit.

‘Excuse me,’ he says, ‘but I’ve been in the egg for a very long time, and it is not much fun, and to be frank I don’t see why I should have waited when I have Laurentius now,’ and the man in question winces a bit now, ‘and I like him perfectly fine, and so if you could tell the dictator - for I have heard I am supposed to go to him, and I am not fond of the idea at all - that I of course very much respect him, and I am willing to serve him and the state, as a dragon must, but I will do that only with Laurentius, and if he kills him, I will slay him for such cruel and unjustified behaviour, for that would be no better than what Alexander has done to the Thebans.’

During the speech, Laurentius grows progressively paler and paler.

Muratius stares at the dragon at first, and then he turns to Laurentius, somewhat wearily.

‘I am not going to ask you why you have the dragon speaking like an orator, or indeed, why the poor beast seems to be threatening murder to your dictator-’ Laurentius cringes ‘- in fact, I am not going to ask you anything at all. What I will do is accompany you two to Rome - and you, dragon - what is your name? - are very welcome to say that to my brother yourself.’

‘I will do that, thank you, sir, and my name is Temerarius,’ Temerarius says, proudly.

Muratius huffs.

‘Well, it certainly suits you,’ he says. ‘Come along, then. Libertas will be greatly amused when he meets you at last.’

And so they leave Ostia, Muratius on his Libertas - who is a rather placid creature compared to Temerarius, but manages to converse with the young dragon well enough - and Laurentius on his erstwhile companion, still white enough to pass for a marble statue. They are accompanied by a number of smaller mercurians, whose size, Laurentius notes, is Temerarius well on his way to surpassing, and fairly quickly at that if he continues to grow at his current rate. They glisten like copper and gold in the afternoon sun, and Laurentius looks at his own dragon, and notices, not for the first time, how strange he looks like: black as the night, with licks of dark red climbing up from his belly and around his wings, and a strangely sharp head compared to the other dragons. Even Libertas, who is much larger than Temerarius, does not look like him at all: he’s a capitoline, the first dragon breed the Romans have ever tamed if the stories are to be believed, and looks like a giant golden colossus that has somehow come to life. It is a rare sight, to come to close to one: Laurentius has seen a capitoline before, of course, for they symbolise the eternal rule of Rome over all of her dominions, but they do not come into the city often, because the narrow streets of the metropolis can be hard to navigate even for the smallest silvan. However, he does recall being - ten? eleven, maybe - and going with his father to sacrifice at the temple of Jupiter Maximus, and seeing a large capitoline perched on the golden temple roof, his narrowed eyes looking over the city.

He has to force himself to look away. This is not something he would like to think about just now.

Finally, Rome starts to rise on the horizon, and his breath hitches - he hasn’t been to the city in such a long time, but he immediately recognises the familiar sight of the Capitoline Hill covered in marbled temples, and the gardens on the Esquiline, with more humble abodes crouching in the valleys between the seven hills, the river Tiber lazily snaking through the mother of all cities. He thinks of his mother, and his brothers, and their home close to the slopes of the Caelian, and then he closes his eyes and carefully thinks of something else.

Yet - it is not the same Rome he remembers, either. There are signs of rapid constructions - the Palatine, especially, is a flurry of activity, with builders raising up new columns and pouring sand into the mixing vats, and when he looks more carefully, he finds such sights everywhere - even in the Martian fields, outside the ancient walls of the city. It is remarkable.

‘Laurentius,’ Temerarius says, then, strangely subdued, ‘is that Rome?’

He pets his back, carefully.

‘Yes,’ he says, and his voice is reverent, ‘yes, it is, my dear.’

\---

They land on the Palatine, following Muratius who confidently takes his Libertas to one of the newly-built plazas on the hill, and the capitoline comfortably slumps down on the marbled paving and allows his rider to descend on the earth. Temerarius lands beside him, slightly less comfortably, looking around with much curiosity.

‘Oh, but this is marvellous,’ he says, seriously, after he bops his head into one of the carefully sculpted columns. ‘I must confess, Laurentius, when you said that Rome was the greatest city in the world, I was not quite sure - Troy, for instance, sounded very impressive, and the cities we saw on the coast did not look at all that grand, but now I see that you were right.’

‘Oh, thank you,’ someone says behind him. ‘I did put in quite a bit of work, you know, so it is nice to be appreciated.’

Laurentius turns around, and then he pales, and bows, tensely.

‘Imperator,’ he manages, before Temerarius catches up.

‘That’s him?’ he says and narrows his eyes a bit. ‘Oh. But you don’t look very impressive at all.’

The dictator Napoleone Boionius Caesar - imperator, consul, prefect of the morals, father of the fatherland, the tribune of the people, first among the citizens and the last triumvir - pauses for a moment, and then he smiles good-naturedly.

‘While you, little beastie, look exactly as remarkably as I thought you would. Do rise, Navarch Laurentius,’ he says, as an aside, ‘please, we are both soldiers.’

Laurentius does rise, while Temerarius persists in glaring at the dictator with some suspicion. The man in question smiles again, and gestures.

‘I’d invite you both to take a walk with me, but as you can see,’ and he points to the corner of the plaza, where some workers are hauling by a wagon, ‘the Palatine is a bit of a work in progress right now. It will be quite some time before all is finished: nevertheless, it is heartening to hear praise from such an unbiased spectator already.’

‘Well,’ Temerarius says, a bit placated but still rather hostile, ‘It is rather impressive, but I am sure it could be much better. The streets, for instance,’ he turns his head sideways, ‘are very small. I do not think Panacea could fit into any of them, and she is far smaller than Libertas or I.’

Laurentius faintly recalls one of the mercurians who accompanied them to the city being called Panacea. At least, he decides somewhat morbidly, Temerarius has started to make some other friends. That will be good for him.

The dictator glances at one of the streets leading away from the plaza, and hums. ‘Why, that is true. But why would you need to walk in the streets, when you can fly?’

‘Laurentius has told me that Rome is the most marvellous city in the world,’ Temerarius says, ‘and I see now he was right. But I am disappointed that I can’t see more of it - the streets are so narrow, and all of these delightful temples and houses are so crammed near each other, I don’t think I’ll be able to explore it at all.’

‘Perhaps you could fly only a little bit above the ground?’ Laurentius suggests, faintly. This whole experience is starting to feel somewhat surreal.

Temerarius frowns.

‘I suppose I could,’ he says. ‘But that does not sound that exciting.’

The dictator stares at them with fascination.

‘I think some of the Romans might also object, were you to do that,’ he adds. ‘To us, you dragons can be rather frightening: you can see I certainly do not think that, and neither does Muratius or indeed, any of my siblings - well, perhaps Secunda, she has always been a bit contrary - and certainly your Laurentius does not think so either, but not all of my countrymen are so brave.’

‘Why, that’s not fair at all!’ Temerarius says, indignantly. ‘I, for one, cannot help that I am so large - actually, to me, you humans are rather uncomfortably small, and so it is not just at all that I should not be able to tour Rome if I wish so, only because I am a dragon - after all, I serve the empire, just like anyone else.’

‘Sometimes, my dear,’ Laurentius says, quietly, ‘there is not much just, or fair, about what is right.’

They stand in silence for a few moments, before the dictator looks up energetically.

‘That was rather grim, was it not?’ He says. ‘But you are both correct - Temerarius - that’s it, yes? Did you name him after my ship, Laurentius? It was a rather magnificent one, was it not? - I will think about what you’ve said to me. If you have any other ideas, do share them with me, I’d be very interested to hear what you have to say.’

‘It was a very impressive ship, imperator,’ Laurentius says, feeling rather lost. ‘I fought on the other side, of course, but I will never forget the sight.’

‘Oh, you did, that’s right! Shame, you do seem like a capable one - or maybe your dragon is just a magnificent creature of his own making, we shall have to see - but what is done is done and you did end up pledging yourself to me, otherwise you wouldn’t be here, so I suppose that is all right.’

Laurentius pauses, runs the conversation through his head again, and then he speaks.

‘Imperator - forgive me, but I am not sure I follow.’

‘What is there not to understand?,’ the dictator says, frowning a bit.

‘I was under the impression - I failed to fulfil my orders, imperator. It is my fault that Temerarius was not delivered to you in time, and I accept my responsibility completely. I do not know what my punishment is to be, whether death or else, but I will not fight it - but I would ask you for one thing and one thing only, and that is not to mock me. I am a man and a Roman - let me keep my dignity if nothing else.’

‘You are not dying, Laurentius, I will not permit it,’ Temerarius says, ferociously from behind him, but Laurentius reaches out with his hand to quiet him down, and the dictator raises his eyebrows and watches them for a moment.

‘Laurentius - let me assure you I am not having you executed, although I do have to admit it has proven somewhat - inconvenient that Temerarius hatched when he did. Indeed, I was not happy. But-’ and he nods towards the dragon, whose eyes have narrowed somehow, ‘I have spent too much time with Muratius and his companion to fail to understand what would happen if I tried to separate you. As the situation stands, you have tamed the dragon, and this is where we will go from now. I am no tyrant or murderer, whatever my enemies would have you think. You will both serve the empire as well as you can, just as all of us must.’

‘Imperator, I must ask you to permit me to speak frankly,’ Laurentius says, after a moment.

The dictator nods, curiously.

‘Then let me say this: I have served Rome since I have been but a boy, and will continue to do so if you will permit it. But the Rome you are building is not the one I was raised to believe is: indeed, you say that you are not a murderer, but you have on your hands blood of all the Romans you have dragged into wars fought over the dead body of our Republic, and your son-in-law lies dead thanks to you. You say you are not a tyrant, but you have held the consulship for years now and have asked us to wage war against our brothers, fathers, and friends, instead of leading us against our enemies: while my ancestors fought in the wars against Carthage, and are revered for it, my generation has been bathed in the blood of our countrymen. I have served Rome, and will continue to do so because I know no greater task that to serve one’s homeland: and indeed, this is why I serve you, for you are now Rome. But I beg you, imperator, do not lie to me. I cannot bear it. You are a murderer and a tyrant: I am a murderer and a traitor. Let us be honest with each other.’

Temerarius gasps, quietly, and the dictator pauses, looking at him with dark amusement.

‘You are a republican, I see,’ he observes.

‘I am, imperator,’ Laurentius acknowledges.

‘Are you sure you do not want to be executed? For a man who has been just granted a second chance, you seem rather intent on marching yourself on a sword.’

‘I would rather avoid it, imperator,’ Laurentius says, wryly.

‘You will avoid it, Laurentius!’ And Temerarius swoops in, catching him with his claws, and then Laurentius is being dragged further to him and the dragon is speaking, furiously. ‘I don’t know what your republic is, and why you are so intent on it, but I know that you are mine and I am yours, and the dictator - though he really is not that impressive, he should wear more gold to look a bit more important - will allow me to stay with you, so I don’t think it is very nice of you to call him names, and I would have thought you are more clever than this. Please, Laurentius, I beg you - stop this nonsense. I don’t want you to die - I will not have it!’

The dictator seems rather bemused, but Temerarius is distressed, and Laurentius tries to soothe him, pressing a hand against his forehead - and he is so much larger already, it has not even been a month since he hatched - and he says, ‘My dear, I am a Roman, and so are you now: and so we should both know there are worse things in life than dying.’

But the dragon frowns. ‘I do not think so! I know Homer says so, and some of the tragedies you’ve told me about, but - I disagree. You are not a murderer and you are not a traitor and you are not going to die, stop saying that.’

And Laurentius wants to say something, but then, softly, the dictator weights in.

‘I do not think you are a traitor, Laurentius,’ he says.

Laurentius stares at his dragon and does not think he would turn around, even if he could.

‘I served the republic, and then I served Pompey, and now I serve you,’ he says, feeling very tired. ‘How would you call it then?’

‘Having common sense, perhaps,’ the man says, then. ‘Something that your Temerarius seems to have in abundance.’

‘I would rather have clean hands,’ Laurentius says.

The dictator pauses.

‘You are a very interesting man, Navarch,’ he says, finally, and Laurentius does not answer.

\---

They end up in Campus Martius together with the rest of the aerial forces: and that, at least, is a blessing.

Temerarius, for all he refuses to let Laurentius out of his sight, seems immensely interested in meeting the other dragons - not surprisingly, since it is only the second time he is seeing other creatures like himself, and even for Laurentius, it is a very interesting experience.

Romans are dragon-tamers. Ever since Romulus himself, their men have riden these magnificent creatures and conquered most of the known world with them: the Greeks learned from them, and so did the Carthaginians, and although he has heard that the Persians have done it on their own, he does not put much stock in it. The dragons native to Rome are here, of course - capitolines, mercurians, vulcans, the whole lot of them - and they are not much different from each other, and indeed they must have bred with each other many times, for all of them are - well, squarish would be a good word for it, although Laurentius has enough sense to never utter it in front of any Roman dragon - and their scales shine like copper and gold. They are the envy of the known world: having been bred for size for hundreds of years, even the smallest of them reach weights that far exceed their wild or more recently tamed cousins, and it is a splendid sight when he lands in a field that glitters with them.

But in the Campus Martius, it is not just these dragons that they meet: because as the Roman empire grew, so did the number of her dragons.

‘Laurentius, look,’ Temerarius whispers, wonderfully unsubtle as he stares at a passing blue specimen who stiffens a bit before he hurries on his way, ‘look!’

‘I think that’s a massalius, my dear,’ Laurentius says. ‘I’ve seen them in the navy: they are from southern Gaul, you see, not a very old breed at all, certainly nothing like your friend Libertas.’

‘He’s so small,’ Temerarius says, with wonder. ‘Smaller than Panacea! And this one - that’s a silvanus, right?,’ and another passing dragon startles.

‘Stop harassing them,’ the large capitoline nestled near them huffs. He wears a massive torque and looks very imposing, and Temerarius bristles a bit.

‘You are a hatchling - you are curious. That’s fine. But you are making them uncomfortable. That is not something one should do,’ the capitoline continues. ‘You are a Roman dragon. Behave like it.’

‘I don’t think I am being rude at all,’ Temerarius starts to object, but the other dragon rolls his eyes.

‘Yes, you are. These are provincials - they are for carrying messages and helping the army build bridges and hauling cows into the camp, not fighting. That’s shameful. You are pointing it out. That’s rude. My name is Maximus.’

Laurentius blinks at the last bit of information, seemingly absolutely unrelated to the rest of it.

‘I am Temerarius,’ says Temerarius, not at all phased. ‘Why is that shameful? What does it mean, to be a provincial?’

Maximus looks at him.

‘You have a lot of questions,’ he states.

‘Why, and you don’t have a lot of answers.’

The other dragon blinks.

‘…It is the duty of a Roman to fight. They can’t do that: they are not Romans, they are provincials and that means they are small and scared, and so they have to carry things around and haul cargo. A proper dragon fights. It is shameful.’

‘I think, Temerarius,’ Laurentius inserts himself into the conversation, ‘that what he wants you to understand that while he - and you, I would hazard a guess - are of a very old breed, and so you have grown quite larger, their kind has been tamed very recently, and so they are still very small and - well, perhaps less useful in battle than you will be, although that’s not a very kind thing to say - and therefore the state has them do other tasks.’

‘That is what I said,’ Maximus says.

‘Ah,’ Temerarius says, mulling it over. ‘But Laurentius - what breed am I then?’

\---

‘He’s an atash, of course,’ Muratius says when he comes to visit them the next day. ‘That is after all why my brother wanted him so badly.’

‘Oh,’ Laurentius says.

‘I don’t know what that means,’ Temerarius says.

Laurentius does - of course he does. The Romans have fought the Persians before, even though there has been peace in the East for quite some time now: and although their armies were always better and their dragons bigger, there is a reason why they lost more than they won, and every child knows why.

(Laurentius still remembers Crassus and the slaughter in the east ten years ago: the man was in command of forty thousand men against the ten thousand the Persians marshalled, leading seven of the most magnificent legions the world has seen since Pompey’s conquests. They were accompanied by seven experienced capitolines and their companies. Yet - Crassus did not come back. They lost four legionary standards and three of their best dragons to the Persians that day, along with three men out of four: it is said that the sun himself hid away on that day to mourn the Romans and that Capitoline hill shook for three days as her dragons wailed at the loss of their brothers.)

‘You can breathe fire, my dear,’ he says.

Temerarius looks at him, and then he turns around and tries to breathe out. Muratius instinctively backs down - and even Laurentius twitches.

Nothing happens.

‘I don’t think I can,’ Temerarius says.

‘Well, not yet, I suppose,’ Muratius says. ‘But you will. And that you are going to be very, very useful. By the way, Laurentius, this is why I came: my brother wants to speak with you, and please do take your little fire spitter with you.’

\---

‘I understand that I am a Persian, and not a Roman at all, which does not seem very important either way: but if I am a Persian and have not fought for the empire, and yet you can treat me with respect, I do not see why the same could not be done for your ‘provincial’ dragons, for they appear to me to be perfectly capable if a little small,’ Temerarius proclaims after they are herded into the atrium of the - well, they call it the dictator’s house, but it looks suspiciously like a palace - by his personal guard. The dragon is still small enough to fit into it: that speaks as much of his youth as of the fact that the building in itself is simply massive.

‘And salve to you too, Temerarius,’ the dictator says, looking up from his conversation with - a senator, it looks like, and another man who bears the insignia of an urban prefect. ‘My friends: I fear that we will have to postpone our conversation,’ he says to the two men, and they nod and take their leave.

‘Imperator,’ Laurentius says, still taken aback by the revelation of Temerarius’ origin - and then he turns and says, ‘I have told you, my dear: you hatched on a Roman navy ship and promised to serve her with me, and besides, you belong to myself,’ which still sits strangely on his tongue, so hurries into the next thought, ‘- and as I am most certainly a Roman, I dare say that I do not see why you ought not to consider yourself one.’

The dictator watches them for a moment, something strange in his eyes.

‘It is true that you are not of Rome by blood and descent, Temerarius,’ he says, finally, ‘but neither am I. No, do not fret, Laurentius-’ he says, as the other man does, in fact, open his mouth to speak, ‘we both know perfectly well that I have always been not Roman enough for many of my enemies, and some of my friends: indeed, you yourself must count a consul or two among your ancestors, while my own came to the city from Corsica, only two hundred years ago,’ and he looks at the dragon.

‘They might call you a Persian and too eastern and not Roman enough: why, they called me a Carthaginian, a Punic, and half-bred upstart. But I do want you to remember, Temerarius, that Rome herself was settled by men who fled from Troy, all the way from Asia Minor, and Romulus himself led a band of refugees, exiles and criminals. There is a bit of Greekness in this city, and in the veins of the noblest aristocrats flows the blood of the Sabines: king Numa, who gave us our laws and institutions, was an Etruscan and more recently, Polybius came from Arcadia, and yet his insights into the politics of our state are unparalleled. Rome is, and has always been a city of immigrants, no matter what some men might say: and we have made this city great.’

And Laurentius does not say a word, because he has never thought much of this - he is of the Allenimentii, who came with Aeneas from Troy and settled the Alban hills, and although his branch of the family is a minor one, they can claim descent from Apollo through his granddaughter Aceso, who fell in love with a mortal and beget the first Allementius. They have always been Romans: his great-grandfather held a consulship, and he can count many an important statesmen and generals among his ancestors, even if he himself has only the command of a few ships to his name. To hear such a statement from a man who now leads Rome is strange, to say the least.

‘That is nice of you to say,’ Temerarius says, a bit sceptically, ‘but I spoke to Maximus and then to Sulis - she is a sylvan, I think, and hails from northern Gaul - and he told me that a proper dragon has to fight, and then she said that you do not let her and other provincials do that and that she is much ashamed of herself, and I thought that was rather stupid of you, since she seemed much smarter than Maximus, even if he is much bigger.’

‘I see,’ the dictator says. ‘That is not something I have given much thought to, I must admit: Laurentius, would you care to share your thought with us? Since you are, admittedly, the most Roman of us.’

‘I would not say that, imperator: you have been raised in the city, as far as I know, and that should be enough for any man,’ Laurentius says, with some hesitation. ‘I am of the navy, besides, so I am not sure that I can say much of use about the aerial force.’

‘Do humour me,’ he says.

‘Well, I see Temerarius’ point - it is rather strange that you speak to us of the foreigners that have made the city great while the dragons we have met who hail from the provinces seem to be shunned and made to labour and toil. But I would also say that, for all their merit, they are rather - small creatures, and I confess I cannot see how useful they could be in battle.’

‘Well, why they have to fight to be respected at all?’ Says Temerarius hesitantly. ‘Your mother, she does not fight, does she, Laurentius?’

‘She most certainly does not,’ Laurentius says, a bit taken aback. The dictator seems like he is supressing a smile. ‘She is a proper Roman woman: she runs the family household and keeps the hearth.’

‘Yet you have said to me that you love and respect her: so there must be some honour in doing other things than fighting.’

‘But that is different, my dear: she is a woman, so of course she does not fight, but it is a duty of every man and every dragon to defend our state. If your friends cannot do that, there is no wonder they are unhappy.’

‘I don’t see how that is important at all: they do what they can for your state, and surely they would fight, if you asked them, although they might not be very good at it. I think you only dismiss them because they are not Roman, and that is not fair at all: and if you so insist on not having them fight, then I would think they should be either respected for the work they do, or be allowed to do something else.'

‘Your dragon is growing into a little philosopher,’ the dictator says, wryly. ‘What have you been teaching him, Laurentius?’

‘’Laurentius recited me Homer, and Sophocles, and some Ennius and Aristophanes too, but I would like to learn more of your literature: however, I asked Maximus, and he said his commander has never taught him any of the classics, which does seem strange to me, since I do not know what he amuses himself with in his spare time,’ Temerarius says, before Laurentius can answer.

‘He is a Roman, imperator, and he is rather interested in the works of the learned men: I taught him the little I myself studied as a boy, and he took very well to it,’ he says, somehow defensively.

‘I see - you do realise, of course, that most of our dragons prefer to spend their time lounging in the sun or better yet, menacing flocks of the great Italian estates, as most beasts of war do,’ the dictator says, oddly. ‘Instead, you have been raising a Roman aristocrat.’

‘I am not familiar with the manner of the aerial forces, imperator, as you know, but I have to say I do not see how this does any harm,’ Laurentius replies, over the offended huff of Temerarius, who does not seem keen to hear himself described as beast: and indeed, Laurentius himself finds he does not like it much either.

‘No, I do not suppose it does, that is true,’ the dictator says, after a moment. ‘Do you know, that is an idea: but perhaps it is for a different time and a different company. As fascinating as this discussion has been - and thank you, Temerarius, as I have said, I am always happy to hear your thoughts, for I am afraid Muratius’ Libertas is not very interested in much besides war - I did ask you to come for a reason. You do know by now, of course, that Temerarius is an atash.’

‘If I may, imperator - how did you manage to convince the Persians to give you one?,’ Laurentius says, because the question has been on his mind ever since he learned of Temerarius’ breed. ‘I have been given reason to think they guard them very jealously.’

‘Oh, they do,’ the dictator acknowledges with some pleasure. ‘But you will find, Laurentius, that I can be a very persuasive man.’

That does not explain anything at all, and instead, manages to make Laurentius even more perplexed - but the other man carries on.

‘As such, it is paramount we manage to harness Temerarius’ talents: unfortunately, the Persians have not been exactly forthcoming about what precisely these are, and our scholars know frustratingly little about them. To that end, I will have you fly to Brindisium and join the squadron stationed here, to have both of you catch up with rest of our dragon-riders. You will be joined by my dear friend Varro, who is a very erudite naturalist and extremely keen to meet you both, and do your best to assist him in his study of the atash: I need to stress that this is of paramount importance to Rome. I suppose though that he ought to be able to help you with your - literary education - too, if you wish so, Temerarius.’

‘Yes, imperator,’ Laurentius says. There is not much else one could do.

‘Temerarius - if you would give me moment alone with your commander? I will have someone show you the statues outside the house, and you are very welcome to ask question.’

The dragon eyes the dictator after this aspect somehow suspiciously, but the proposition does appear to interest him very much, and so after Laurentius nods reassuringly, he follows a man that appears at the dictator’s orders out, even if he does twist his head back before they disappear out of sight.

‘I am told your father perished after Actium,’ the dictator says, after a moment.

‘He slit his wrists,’ Laurentius says, flatly.

‘Yet, you are here.’

‘As far as my family is concerned, that is why I am dead to them,’ he acknowledges.

The dictator measures him for a moment.

‘I would take you for an opportunist, then: you have taken my dragon, Laurentius, and joined my forces after Actium, yet yesterday you called me a murderer and a tyrant, which is not something a man hoping to advance in Rome would do these days. Indeed, it would be easy to call such a man a fool.’

‘You phrasing suggests to me you would not do so.’

‘Why should I not? We both know the republic is dead, and has been since Sulla, perhaps even longer than that. You call yourself a traitor, yet the only thing you have betrayed is a corpse: and those usually do not ask much of you, I would know.’

‘Then I am a fool: for I still believe in the republic and the great men she bore, instead of the bloodshed you have wrought upon the country.’

‘Was Pompey any better, then? Do you mourn my erstwhile son-in-law?’

‘I do not: I believed he would restore the republic, of course, but then, I was young and foolish and have since had reasons to come to regret my faith. No - he was just like you and Sulla, and had we won, I would have ended up having to regret it: but I do mourn the hope he gave Rome, if just for a brief moment.’

The dictator pauses, and then he says, ‘I don’t think you know anything much about me at all, if you think I am a second Sulla.’

‘If so, it is because you have given me little reason to think otherwise.’

And the other man moves as if to say something, and then he stops and something changes in his expression.

‘I find, then, Laurentius, that I would like to convince you otherwise,’ he says, and then, ‘do forgive me, I have other business to attend to: but you have your dragon, dear Navarch - although I suppose we shall have to find another title for you now, since you are not going to be coming back to your ship - and I will be therefore very curious to see what you will do with him.’

‘I will serve the state, imperator,’ Laurentius says. ‘I have never asked for more.’

‘And do you know, I happen to think you have,’ the dictator murmurs. ‘To Brindisium, then. Make Rome proud.’

(When he later recalls this part of the conversation, Laurentius finds himself strangely unsettled.)

\---

They stay in Brindisium for four months.

Varro, who chooses to meet up with them at the camp - ‘You understand, my stomach does not agree with flying at all, I am afraid,’ oscillates between scientific zeal - ‘Do describe this to me, Temerarius, once more - would you say you think it is more of a breath or a roar?’ and respectable displeasure at being forced leave his estate at Raetae, where he normally spends most of his time - ‘Indeed I have been thinking of putting together a farming manual of sorts, loosely based on Cato’s of course: my dear Fundania has decided to purchase a not insignificant estate of her own, and as I am a man of somehow advanced age, I do wish her to have something to guide her - you do understand.’ Laurentius moves into his good graces by the virtue of his good descent, which is something Varro likes to vax about at some length - the man is very concerned with old-fashioned virtue, and likes to bring up his extensive knowledge of Roman nobility including Laurentius’ prolific ancestors. He is not a companion Laurentius himself would seek out for himself, for he has always been a bit more of a military man, but he is thankful to Varro nevertheless, for the man takes to Temerarius immensely, and happily contributes his social contacts to procure more literature for the rapidly growing dragon.

‘Some Aristotle, yes, and Cinna, that would be marvellous - he is still alive, is he not Laurentius? Oh, how I would wish to hear him read his work,’ Temerarius says, absolutely oblivious at what sort of mayhem his presence might create in a literary salon: especially now, as he starts to grow into his proper size.

Temerarius will never be as big as a capitoline, Varro says quite confidently: the few soldiers that have seen an atash - ‘Of course, the proper name is atash-i vahram, which ought to mean ‘victorious fire’, as I have been able to ascertain from some of my correspondents in Egypt, but I find that quite unpronounceable, if you will excuse me, Temerarius,’ - have confirmed that they grow roughly to two-thirds of the capitoline’s size, but that is still nothing to frown upon, as Laurentius reassures his dragon. The capitolines are ridiculously large and Temerarius will still far exceed a mercurian, let alone a massalian or any other dragon from the provinces. ‘And of course, you will breathe fire, which is a wonder none of our dragons have managed to produce, so there is that,’ adds, after his companion asks him with some trepidation if Laurentius does not mind that Temerarius will not be as big as the greatest of the Roman dragons.

Temerarius does look somehow sceptical at this prospect, but as he grows older, he does noticeably start to produce more heat, and his breath does resemble steam now, although his attempts at setting things of fire have been rather underwhelming so far: Varro, however, maintains that he needs to develop more lung capacity before he can go around setting armies on fire, and Laurentius takes great care to explain to the disappointed dragon that he is not cross with him at all, and even if he never starts breathing fire at all - which Temerarius timidly proposes might happen - he will always be his dearest companion.

For this is what Temerarius truly is now, to Laurentius: they spend quiet evenings together, with him reciting Hesiod and guiding the dragon through excerpts of Cato, whose prose has always been somehow stiff for Laurentius himself, and answers his questions regarding everything from botany to the lineages of Macedonia, even if rather more often than he’d like his answers start with - ‘I must say I do not know, but I will find out for you, my dear’ and together, they take on a rather intensive training in the art of the aerial warfare.

The dictator has send them to a veteran force that includes a single, ancient capitoline named Viscellinus - ‘my first commander was of the Cassii, you see, and even though they do not like the old families staying with one dragon too much now, I am proud to say that every single one of my commanders since have been from the very same family’, whose only slowly adjusts to Temerarius’ presence, especially since he was one of the dragons Crassus led against the Persians at Carrhae. However, he eventually warms up to Temerarius, after the latter takes great care to study the deeds of the Casii and earnestly asks him a whole lot of question about the ones Viscellinus had known. In addition, there is a rather unpleasant fury named Tilphousia, who is mostly interested in murder and ravage (‘I am afraid they are all like this’, says her captain rather apologetically to Laurentius after she hisses out Temerarius out of her enclosure for the fourth time, ‘but they can be very useful, you do realise,’) and a sandy, slender specimen of a victory named Africana, who sometimes joins Temerarius to listen to poetry, although hesitantly: the company is completed by two fiercely proud Vulcans named Cercyon and Telemachus, and a mercury with unusual silver streaks, fittingly named Argentea.

Their commanders are mostly career soldiers, third or fourth sons, but all of them good Romans, and Laurentius finds himself feeling quite comfortable in their company: after all, even if his case is somewhat unusual, all of the commanders are quite used to men being moved to the aerial forces from other parts of the army, since dragons are temperamental beasts and often attached to particular families to the degree that they will not hesitate to claim a prefect or a junior officer from his posting. Dragons are, after all, famously attached to certain lines, and not too long ago, they tended to be guarded jealously by those families: it is only recently that the influx of new men into the army, along with dragons from the provinces, led to the significant enlargement of their aerial forces. ‘It is not the end of your career,’ Priscus, who commands one of the vulcans, says to him good-naturedly, ‘I managed to reach the rank of an aedile before I was called to my Telemachus, and once we are done with fighting, I intend to gain posting in the provinces, Gods be willing.’ Laurentius does not have the heart to tell him that he does not care much about any career advancement, and that he does not thing their dictator intends to stop fighting any time soon: after all, they are drilled much too fiercely for this to be a mere formality.

‘You must be in control of your dragon at all times, Laurentius,’ Avianus, the most senior of the commanders, insists. ‘Up there, it is just you and your beast - no, don’t scowl, I love my Africana as much as anyone, but she is a beast of war, and they can get caught up in bloodlust sometimes: you must ensure they stay in formation.’

‘I do not think this is a problem Temerarius will have,’ Laurentius says quite frankly, for he does have some trouble imagining his Homer-loving dragon descending into any sort of frenzy, but Avianus snorts and waves him away.

It is with some surprise, however, that he learns that Temerarius is not the only new aspect of the squadron: just a few months ago, they have started to experiment with something they call boarding.

‘The idea is,’ Longinus, a rather young man, who is nevertheless the commander of Viscellinus, ‘is to get men from your dragon onto the enemy one, and grab their commander, so that the poor beast has to surrender - the high command came with it, of course, and it is rather ingenious, although we do struggle with getting the rank and file used to the idea of not only flying, but also jumping on hostile animals. But if it works - why, that would be a real coup, Laurentius, you do understand that.’

And of course he does, in a sort of perverse fascination: it is very clever, for he cannot imagine Temerarius could be convinced to continue fighting if Laurentius himself was being held at a sword-point, but it is also quite uncomfortable in its viciousness.

‘Of course not all dragons are suitable for that: we surely cannot do with a mercury, because they are far too small to ferry men on them, and I think a victory would probably bite your head off if you suggested putting any of theirs into danger, so we’ve been trying it out only with the capitolines. My Viscellinus bears it quite easily: I imagine yours could do that as well, but of course, he’s our only fire-breather, or will be, so he will be enough of a surprise on his own.’

‘But if this works - surely our enemies will learn to do it as well,’ Laurentius says, and the other man nods.

‘That they will - and by then, we will hopefully have a crew on most of the bigger dragons: but that is, as general Muratius let us know, something we do not have to deal with yet.’

That evening, as he retires - utterly exhausted - from the company of the other commanders, and meets Temerarius, who is likewise fatigued by drills and exercises they both suffered through. The dragon blinks, when he approaches him, and says, ‘Laurentius: is it this hard being a soldier, all the time?’

And Laurentius looks at him, with some unease.

‘No, my dear,’ he says. ‘I believe we are preparing for war.’

\---

‘I heard you were a republican, Laurentius,’ Longinus says, one day, in that sort of a light tone that immediately puts Laurentius on guard.

They are watching the dragons feed: Temerarius, with some effort, has dragged away his cow to the side, and is trying to set it on fire, as this has been his personal goal for some time now. He does succeed in making it smoke a little, and Laurentius suppresses a smile when the poor dear stares at the carcass with frustration.

‘My father certainly was,’ he says, finally. ‘And I myself have served under Pompey, as you surely know: but I have been forgiven for my mistakes by the dictator, along with other officers, and have served Rome ever since.’

‘You speak as if you think I will harass you for that,’ Longinus says. ‘Why, I don’t think being a republican is a bad thing at all: indeed, it is rather a noble thing to value liberty, I would say.’

‘It is one of the great virtues of the state,’ Laurentius says, distinctly uncomfortable.

‘One might say, however, that it seems to be in short supply these days.’

‘…That is a dangerous thing to say, sir,’ Laurentius says, finally.

‘It should not be, I think,’ Longinus says, turning to face him. ‘As it happens, I happen to know others who would agree with me. We do talk about liberty, and other things: conversations that every Roman should have, I would say.’

And Laurentius is now looking at him, and Longinus seems very relaxed, except that he is dead serious - and then, he is spared from answering by a victorious roar.

‘Laurentius! Laurentius! I’ve done it!,’ Temerarius shouts, and he turns back to him, and his dragon is standing over a blackened carcass: and then he open his jaws, and breathes out, and then there are flames spilling out of his throat, and the earth in front of him is on fire.

‘Well done, my dear, well done!,’ he says, and does not care that he has raised his voice, and Temerarius is preening like a satisfied cat, and then does it again, and Laurentius does not care that the meat must have turned into charcoal by now, because Temerarius seems to be bursting with joy as he turns his head back and spits fire into the air.

‘Brilliantly done, Temerarius, and congratulations, commander Laurentius,’ Longinus says, with a smile, and Laurentius turns back with a smile, intending to rush to his dragon, but Longinus catches him by the shoulder.

‘Your father was a great man, Laurentius,’ he says, then. ‘I will be glad to continue having this conversation with you, if you chose so.’

He leaves, and Laurentius watches him for a few moments, feeling strange: but Temerarius is calling his name and so he rushes forward, leaving Longinus and his ominous words behind.

\---

They receive news from a nervous sylvan shortly after, whose captain hands over a short message once they land at the camp: Laurentius takes it and reads, with Temerarius curiously peeking over his shoulder.

_To commander Laurentius, lately of the sixth squadron at Brindisium:_

_It is with great pleasure that I have received the news that you and your dragon have been doing well in your training, and that Temerarius has grown into a full-fledged atash: my congratulations to you both. As to Varro’s studies, he has informed me that he has gathered enough information for now, and I have given him leave to head for his estate for now. Therefore, I ask you to return to Rome, for there is much we need to speak about that I do not want to confide to a letter._

_I look forward to seeing you at the earliest possible moment._

‘Laurentius, what does it say?’ Temerarius asks, nervously, when Laurentius does not immediately say something.

‘It is from the imperator, my dear - we are to return to Rome, immediately,’ he manages, and then he turns to the courier, and says, ‘we shall head out today,’ and the man nods and leaves.

‘But what about our friends, Laurentius - I cannot possibly leave without bidding farewell to Africana, and Viscellinus, and the others-’

‘Of course you can say goodbye to them, my dear - go, now, I will speak with the other commanders, and let them know we are to leave as well,’ and Temerarius looks torn, but he hurries away, and Laurentius takes a deep breath, because he does not know what the dictator wants to discuss, but he does not think it bodes well for the future.

They have been - comfortable here, he thinks, and he will miss that, for the dictator promises to be many indeed, but certainly not comfortable.

So he tells the news to the commanders, and they of course express their disappointment at him leaving their company so soon, but Longinus catches him as he means to head to Temerarius, and he says, ‘there will be a war, of course,’ and Laurentius says, ‘I know.’

‘I have to say this, Laurentius: the dictator is not a peaceful man. There has always been a war with him, and only a few of them have been worth it. I will be heading back to Rome, too: we will probably run into each other soon enough.’

‘I will look forward to seeing you there, then,’ he says, and Longinus nods, and he hurries to Temerarius.

\---

They land at the Campus Martius in record time, and they only have enough time to get Temerarius a goat - since he has gained his flames, he insists on searing his meat before he eats it, which Laurentius finds a bit silly, but harmless - before they are hurried by a rather distressed marmarian named Briseis and her commander. They fly the short distance to the Palatine, and Briseis is tasked with accompanying Temerarius on a short tour of the gardens at the Quirinal, while Laurentius is politely yet firmly taken to the house of the dictator.

‘Ah, Laurentius, excellent,’ the man himself says when they arrive, ‘you know Muratius, of course: this is Lucius, my brother, I don’t think you’ve been introduced yet, he has been campaigning in Hispania. Quintus here is this year’s consul, although I don’t think he has enjoyed it too much: I shall give him the fleet, I think - and this is Paulla, my dear sister, who ought not to be here at all, for she has a lot of duties to attend to, does she not.’

‘If you gave me more interesting tasks, brother, perhaps I would choose to do them,’ the woman herself says: she is striking, with dark eyes eerily similar to her brother’s, and she smiles at him. ‘Hello, Laurentius - I have heard much of you.’

‘That is very kind of you, domina,’ Laurentius says, feeling slightly lost, and the dictator laughs.

‘Leave the poor man alone, Paulla - go and tell your husband what I’ve said, and that it is of great importance to me, will you, darling?’

Paulla sighs, but nods, and flutters her eyelashes at Laurentius before she leaves, which makes him blush to the great amusement of the assembled company: and the dictator himself laughs and gently guides Laurentius towards the other with a hand on his shoulder, saying ‘Pray forgive her, dear Laurentius: she is a flirt, but she means no harm.’

‘I take no offense whatsoever, imperator,’ he manages, before the dictator scoffs and says, ‘Caesar, please: we are among friends here.’

That is an especially bizarre sentence, given that all of the men around him belong to the uppermost circles of the empire and can pride themselves on being some of the closest confidants of the dictator, but Laurentius is not given much time to pursue that thought further, for Muratius is already speaking.

‘How is your Temerarius, then? The last time I’ve met the beast, he kept threatening murder: a spirited specimen, that much is true.’

‘He is well, sir,’ Laurentius says, clinging onto his manners. ‘Do forgive him - I can assure you he has matured much since then and is a true credit to myself and the state.’

‘A little bloodlust is fine, though,’ and that is Lucius, ‘as far as he directs it at the Persians and not our men, there is not much we could complain about.’

‘Forgive me - the Persians, sir?,’ Laurentius says, with a sense of foreboding.

‘We are headed to war, Laurentius, of course,’ the dictator says, ‘this is why we have you here, after all. We ought to sail to Syria in less than a month: Muratius will be in charge of the aerial forces, of course, Quintus has the fleets, as I’ve said, and Lucius, to his eternal relief, has been tasked with remaining in Rome in our absence. I shall go as well, of course: the Persians have been getting braver ever since Crassus, you understand, and it is high time we clipped their wings a bit - forgive me the joke.’

‘I - have been led to believe, imperator, that you have been aiming to maintain cordial relationships with the Persians: after all, you did convince them to send you Temerarius’ egg.’

Muratius scoffs.

‘Ha! A fine jape - he did not convince them of anything, the devil.’

‘Or, more precisely, it was not me who did much of the convincing - all credit must go to my beloved Cleo, clever little thing that she is,’ the dictator says, very lightly.

The queen Cleopatra of Egypt has become quite a scandalous topic in certain circles, of course, ever since the dictator has quite unabashedly started to engage in very close relations with her. His wife, to her credit, has born it with unparalleled dignity, for she has failed to give her husband a male heir: yet Laurentius finds himself to feel distinctly uncomfortable to be discussing the dictator’s liaisons so openly.

‘Arsaces, charming fellow that he is, has chosen to offer her marriage, you see: as she relayed to me, he seemed quite intent to use our preoccupation with ‘tearing our realm apart’ to expand his own dominions, and has had the precocious notion to offer her to protect her kingdom, without intending to subordinate it to Persia even, if she only chose to take him as her husband and would coordinate with him a joint assault from the East,’ the dictator continues, as casually as he was discussing a particularly boring dinner party. ‘This is where Temerarius comes in, of course: she has received his egg as a sort of betrothal gift, and in turn, has passed it onto me by the means of your ship - and you do know what happened from there, of course.’

‘As far as our friend, the Persian king, is now concerned, then, he is due to invade next spring together with his soon-to-be consort: unfortunately for him, before this summer comes, we intend to greet him with our army at his doorstep, while Cleopatra has chosen to distract herself for her impeding wedding preparation by sailing a fleet through the Erytrean sea and harassing the Persia supply lines around the Mesopotamian delta. I must say, I do not see much hope for their union after that.’

‘…So the Persians are not aware that our state has acquired a firebreather?’

‘They will figure it out soon enough,’ the dictator says, dismissively. ‘The queen has been distracting their spies with a tar-soaked fury - and please do not pass on this information to Temerarius, else I fear he will be terribly offended - but since that poor thing will hardly learn how to spit fire, we had to hurry you through training. Fortunately, it turned out that the atash only gain their flames as they mature, which bought us some time, but now that Temerarius is a fully-fledged firebreather, we must move quickly. In a month at the latest, I would like us to sail from Brindisium for Syria: it would be foolish to maintain the ruse much longer, and either way, spring will be over soon, so we must be there by the start of May to make the march at least manageable.’

‘We intend to have your Temerarius fly with the sixth,’ Muratius weights in, then. ‘The squadron leader reports you did well enough, so we’ll have your cover the thirteenth legion, which is where my brother will be, of course - my formation will be with the ninth, who shall spearhead the march: we put them together from veterans of Carrhae, so that ought to make them quite eager to avenge themselves on the Persians. All in all, we will have seven legions there, and nine formations, and that is excluding the navy and Egypt’s forces: that is a lot, of course, but since we’d ideally like to dine in Ctesiphon before the winter comes, I would say that it ought to do nicely.’

And Laurentius is not sure what to say, because - this is a sweeping, ambitious campaign, and one is reminded of young Pompey and even Alexander himself by its scope, and he is a soldier, not a general, and he has only been with the aerial forces for a few months, and Temerarius has never even seen a battle, Jupiter, so this is what he says, ‘with all respect, imperator, do you believe that it is correct to entrust your best men to Temerarius’s formation-’, and the dictator shrugs.

‘Well of course ideally we would have sent you to Hispania, to deal with some rebels there, or perhaps have you serve a year on the Rhine frontier, but as it happens, we have no time for that if we wish to preserve the element of surprise - and besides, you have served in the navy for twenty years, give or take, and did well enough at Actium, so I have little reason to doubt you.’

‘But that was the navy, imperator,’ Laurentius says, ‘and besides, we lost at Actium, as you are well aware.’

‘Ah, but you gave me quite a bit of trouble - your ships tried to sneak around Nicopolis, did they not? Very clever, shame Pompey did not think of that himself earlier. No, that is precisely what I want for the campaign - if I have my way, we ought to greet them with the little boarding trick we came up with not too long ago, and then, once they are dealing with that, we’ll let your Temerarius strike - that is the ideal, of course, Gods know how it will work out on the ground, but a man can dream,’ the dictator says, utterly confident, and there is Laurentius than says, ‘yes, imperator.’

The discussion is then steered away to other topics: the fleet, gathering at Brindisium as they speak, supply lines, Lucian’s appointment as the urban prefect, endlessly amusing to all the other man for some reason, and the dictator keeps asking Laurentius for his thoughts on that thing or another - ‘sadly, none of my friend here have much professional experience with the navy, do weight in, dear Laurentius, please’ - which he offers: rather reluctantly at first, because he is a navarch, he mostly just does what the consuls and generals in charge of his fleets ask him to do, but his suggestions seem to go through well - and the dictator touches him a few times, a light touch on his shoulder as he speaks to Quintus about the newly commissioned ships, a pat on his arm as he asks him earnestly about sailing conditions around the Aegean coast - and Laurentius does not know what to think at all, for everyone appears to think that all of this is perfectly normal.

‘Laurentius, one last thing,’ the dictator says, as the conversation comes to a close, and Laurentius attempts to excuse himself, ‘I do have one request for you, if you would,’ and his eyes are twinkling.

‘Yes, imperator,’ he says, and the dictator sighs, ‘how very proper of you - you truly are a credit to your upbringing. Speaking of which, some time ago, I have received a rather tense letter from Fabia Allenimentii, who demanded - in a very polite manner, of course - to know what has happened to you, and to tell her about your whereabouts. I assured her, of course, that you were in good health and assigned to a new posting, the details of which I am unfortunately not able to share with her, as they pertain to the well-being of the state - sadly, this does not appear to have assuage her at all.’

‘I am aware that you mentioned you do not get along with your family much, my friend,’ he says, supressing a smile, ‘but as your mother appears to think I have had you killed and dispatched your body to a ditch somewhere, would you do me a favour and pay her a visit? I have no clue as to how she formed that impression, of course, but I fear that my letters have done extremely little to relieve her of it.’

And Laurentius, who has not thought at all about the letter he sent to his mother in the wake of Temerarius’ hatching, since he had so many other matters to attends to, suddenly finds himself wishing he had been executed after all.

\---

‘Is your mother an unpleasant woman, then?’ Temerarius inquires earnestly, after two more days have passed and Laurentius has - very strangely, what an odd coincidence, there is simple so much to do - yet managed to avoid calling on his family.

‘No, that is not it at all, she is perfectly pleasant, my dear,’ he says, suddenly extremely concerned about Temerarius’ harness, ‘do you think this part looks rather worn? I think it does: I ought to request a replacement immediately, as we will be leaving very soon.’

‘I don’t think it looks worn out at all - so why do you not wish to see her? I have been led to think mothers are rather important to your kind,’ Temerarius says.

Laurentius fiddles with one of the straps anyway for a bit, and then he sights and says, ‘you do realise that this is a conversation I would rather avoid having with you, my dear,’ and Temerarius blinks in a manner that would appear to be rather innocent if it also did not make him look terribly guilty, ‘not at all, why would you say that, Laurentius?’

He smiles, nevertheless, because Temerarius has managed to excel in many things, but not lying, and he says, ‘If you must know, dear, I fear I have done many things to disappoint my family throughout my life: and in particular, I have not met my mother or brothers ever since my father died and I joined the dictator’s forces, so it might be something of an awkward encounter.’

Temerarius pauses for a moment.

‘I do think I would be rather cross with you, Laurentius, if you did not talk to me for many years: but mostly I would feel very sad, and I imagine your family feels the same way,’ he says, hesitantly, and Laurentius gently touches his forehead.

‘I would never do that to you, my dear,’ he says, earnestly. ‘And I suppose it does not matter how my family feels about me either way, for it would be extremely impolite of me not to pay them a visit now - forgive me my reluctance, Temerarius, I simply do not relish the thought at all.’

‘Oh,’ the dragon says, and then, ‘would it cheer you up a bit to hear what Briseis has told me? She is almost as young as I am, you see, but she tells me she has been studying geometry for many months now,’ and Laurentius blinks, and he says, ‘really?’, and Temerarius launches into an excited explanation of what precisely he has learned from his marmarian friend.

‘- and she says that Lutecius, who hatched some time after me, from an egg the army seized in Gaul during the last war, has been chosen by one of the state’s architects to assist him in a project of some sorts, which caused great stir among all of the provincials, for she does not remember anything like this happening before - however, she could not say what that would be, but she did assure me that even herself, although she likes learning geometry very much, is not quite clear on why she ought to do that.’

Laurentius frowns a bit and then he says, ‘do you know, I cannot recall hearing of a dragon studying anything at all except warfare - well, except you, my dear,’ and Temerarius preens a bit, because he does love being told how clever he is, and then he starts to pester Laurentius about getting him some new reading material, which he lets him do rather fondly.

\---

‘So you are alive, after all,’ his brother says.

‘I am, indeed,’ Laurentius says, and runs a hand down his toga self-consciously. He had to get one for himself earlier - he has not dressed like a civilian in many years, and he feels distinctly uncomfortable standing like this in his childhood home. All is the same, of course - they never were a frivolous family, eager to replace this or that statue in the atrium by a more fashionable one, and his father prided himself on his frugality after all.

‘Well, at least mother will be able to stop fretting over you - she has been extremely distressed ever since she received that horrendous letter from you, it did not do any good for her constitution. What were you thinking, send something like that and then disappear?’ Gaius crosses his arms, after he waves away a slave to stand at the door at give them some privacy.

‘I do apologise - I never intended to cause her any unnecessary anguish,’ and he would continue, except that his brother frowns.

‘Well, that is what you did - I am sure you had your reasons, you always do manage to find something, don’t you,’ and it is not really a question, so Laurentius stays silent. Gaius is older by six years and the head of a household, ever since their father passed, and appears to have aged much since Laurentius has seen him last.

‘So where were you? Mother wrote to the godsforsaken tyrant himself, as no one else appeared to know anything about your fate: he, to my complete lack of surprise, had managed to write a series of extremely congenial letters that did not say anything useful at all.’

‘I did not know she was searching for me - I was at Brindisium, with the sixth squadron.’

Gaius frowns.

‘What on earth were you doing there? You are a navarch, what need do the aerial forces have of you?’

‘Ah - I am afraid I have been given a new posting,’ Laurentius says, extremely carefully. ‘In the aerial forces, in fact. I - have found myself in possession of a dragon, you see.’

Gaius stares at him. He does not say anything.

‘It was an accident, I have to say,’ Laurentius hurries, ‘Temerarius hatched on my ship, when we were sailing to Rome, and as I was the most senior officer, it fell to me to take responsibility. He is a delight, of course - extremely clever, I would be honoured to introduce you-’

‘Jupiter, Laurentius,’ Gaius interrupts him. ‘- you do realise, of course, that our family has not had one since the Punic wars - what breed is it?’

‘I am not sure- ’ and his brother narrows his eyes, ‘he is an atash, Gaius - the only one in the forces,’ and Gais breathes out sharply, and turns, ‘that changes things, of course - if we can keep him in the family, it would do wonders for our standing - Secundus is not married yet, and neither you are, but I have two sons, so I suppose that ought to do,’ and Laurentius chokes up a bit at the thought of having children, and he says, ‘two?’, and Gaius looks at him, severe and looking terribly like their father.

‘I had to marry, of course - it was just me and Secundus and mother, after father died, and you were somewhere at the sea, serving damned Caesar of all people - gods, Laurentius, why did you not come home?’

And Laurentius stays there, older than he thought he would ever be, and he says, carefully, slowly, ‘I swore to serve Rome, brother,’ and Gaius scoffs.

‘Haven’t you heard, Laurentius? Rome is dead: there is only Caesar now. They proclaimed him dictator for life a week ago.’

\---

His mother asks him to stay with them, but he refuses: he stands upon the white marble of the house where his father took his own life, and he finds that he can think of little else. He does, kiss her cheek and promises her to not send any other ‘absolutely atrocious letter, Laurentius, what was I to think,’ and meets his two nephews and niece, who are herded to the atrium by their father in stern pride, Gaius’ wife standing demurely in the background. Secundus is not home, but he asks his mother to give him his regards nonetheless - and before he leaves, Gaius pulls him aside.

‘Meet me in the forum before dusk, two days from now - near the Vestal house,’ he says, ‘you have given me much to think about,’ and Laurentius promises to do just that.

‘Then it went well, did it not, Laurentius,’ Temerarius says happily after he coaxes a report on his family on him, ‘that is just as well - I would like to meet you family, if you think it would be possible,’ and Laurentius says, ‘I am not sure - something about the whole affair worried me immensely, you know.’

They have gone out of the city for a few hours: Temerarius has agreed to follow the river up to the hills, outside of the city, even though he would have liked to fly in the opposite direction, to Ostia and the sea. Laurentius, though, somehow paranoid ever since he has learned about the illicit origins of his dear friend, asked him to avoid the port, since a great number of foreigners always gathers there. They are gently drifting towards the Apenines now, the settlements getting slower as they continue to the hills - maybe they will land there, for a while, before they have to return to the camp.

‘I am not sure - is it about the war? I know I have not fought anyone yet, but Viscellinus said I was doing well enough, and I promise I will stick to the formations we practiced -’

‘That is not it at all, my dear, I trust you completely - you will do well,’ Laurentius assures him. ‘We have lost a great deal of men at Carrhae, you know, and the Persians still have some of the legionary standards, and quite likely some of the dragons as well: it would be a mighty deed, if we managed to beat the Persians, and retrieve them, a great triumph for a very noble cause - no, of all the things on my mind, this one does trouble me the least.’

‘However - it does not sit well with me at all, the way all of it is coming together. It is one thing to wage war against the Persians: a whole another matter is to deceive them and promise them an alliance, all while the dictator’s - lover - plans to stab them in their back. And now the news that he has been named dictator for life - that is, my dear, something that sounds suspiciously like having a king, and this is not something what a Roman man should aspire to be, as you know from your readings yourself. I have told you I have been raised to believe in honour, and loyalty, and justice - and I am trying to find them here, but I finding that extremely hard,’ he says, the thoughts spilling out of his mouth in a disorderly manner, and Temerarius is silent for a while.

‘I must say, I do not mind that this is how you came to have my egg,’ he says, finally, ‘for if the Persian king has been so foolish as to fall for such a plot, then I do not think I would have liked to serve him anyway. And besides, it has brought me to you, Laurentius, and I cannot regret that at all, for you are the most excellent companion, and I am very happy to be yours.’

And Laurentius does not say anything, for he finds that it is also true - for better or worse, he cannot bring himself having met Temerarius.

‘As for the dictator - I do understand what you mean, but I don’t think it is such a bad thing, having a king, is it? After all, Priam, and Aeneas, and Numa, and even Romulus were of royal blood, and they served their people faithfully, and the historians still remember them fondly: and the republic has produced a great deal of good men, that much is true, but it also gave you Sulla and other terrible villains - and you must acknowledge that Caesar is nothing like this.’

‘Is he not?’ Laurentius asks. ‘He has made his name fighting other Romans and won his greatest victory with the head of his son-in-law delivered to him by the brother of his would-be concubine. My father killed himself rather than see him rule over the city, and maybe that is good, for he did not see him fill all of the great offices of the state with his sycophants. He has even named a month after himself, for Jupiter’s sake: that is not something a mere man should do.’

Temerarius waves his wings and descends a bit.

‘I do not think you are being fair, Laurentius,’ he says. ‘Did he not forgive his enemies, including you? Indeed, he has been exceedingly kind to us, letting us stay together - not that I would let him even if he wished to separate me from you - and has always listened to what I had to say, even though I am a dragon and some think me a beast. Oh, did you know that it was his doing, with Briseis? I asked Libertas, and he said that Caesar has asked many people and some dragons about what could be done with the provincials, to have them serve the Roman state with honour, and so this is what they came up with so far.’

‘And so what if he has his kin serve as his closest confidantes? The first thing Gaius did when you told him of me was to think about what benefit I could bring to your family, and not about the state, or indeed my or yours wishes at all - that does not seem to me to be at all that different.’

‘I am sorry if that offended you, my dear, I can speak to Gaius,’ Laurentius says, quickly. ‘But that is not the same thing at all: my brother does not lead the state, after all.’

‘But if he did, would he not do the same? And besides, he keeps asking you to come and advise him, and you are hardly a sycophant,’ Temerarius says.

‘I am afraid that is entirely because of you, my dear - after all, you are very important, and so it would make sense for the dictator to wish to win me over, since he has no choice but keep me with you if he wants you to fight for him,’ Laurentius replies, flatly.

‘Well, what about Africana? She is not important at all, and neither is her commander - he is from Sardinia, I think - but they have managed to reach a senior position in the aerial forces nevertheless: she said that she can hardly imagine this happening twenty years ago. I asked Varro, and he was not very happy about that at all, but he said that Caesar has been always keen to promote men for their merit, and not only for whether their ancestors have held a consulship or not, which seems to me a very reasonable thing to do,’ Temerarius says, unconvinced.

‘I-,’ Laurentius says, but Temerarius bullishly continues.

‘I could see why you would be unhappy if he was an awful man, and kept waging war, and killing people, and surrounded himself with the worst sort of henchmen: but he seems to me to be a perfectly good person to be in charge of the state, and perhaps better than most of the other ones. Maybe if you are unhappy with him, go and tell him so: no one can do better if they are not told they are doing something wrong in the first place.’

Laurentius opens his mouth to speak, but what actually comes out is, ‘…I see your point, my dear. Let me think about it some more, will you?’

‘All of this thinking is making you rather unhappy, and I am not too fond of that,’ Temerarius says. ‘Do you think we could land for a moment now? I saw a lake just a few moments ago, and I think it could be quite lovely to go swimming for a bit, don’t you think?’

\---

They return to Rome altogether too soon, and are soon met by an invitation from the dictator himself: he begs Laurentius’ company for dinner the next day, and asks whether Temerarius would be interested in attending a reading by Varro, who is coming to the city to introduce his newest work on rhetoric. Laurentius is saved from having to accept the invitation by pleading familial obligations - he is due to meet Gaius that evening, silently glad not to have to confront his somehow mixed feelings about the dictator with the man himself present yet. Temerarius, on the other hand, is overjoyed, and sends his profuse thanks - at least in his case the campaign of seduction the dictator has waged appears to have succeeded completely, Laurentius notes with some irony.

He is extremely careful not to extend this metaphor further.

Instead, he busies himself by visiting a goldsmith and putting forth a significant amount of his savings to commission something for Temerarius: it has not escaped his notice that the dragon has developed something of a fondness for gold, longingly gazing at some of the torques sported by the great capitolines and asking questions about the breastplates some of the mercurians stride around with. Laurentius personally thinks it is a bit silly, especially given the fact that they are to go to war soon, but he ends up picking out an outrageously expensive gold pendant with a two-layered onyx cameo, sporting a rather stylised image of a dragon, with the assurance it ought to be ready in time for Temerarius’ reading, and leaves the shop having parted with a large proportion of his income and dignity.

He rather hopes the dragon will like it, because he never wants to hear about techniques of gemstone carving ever again.

Gaius is waiting for him in the forum already by the time he arrives: he looks extremely proper, having donned their family rings as well, and is somehow exasperated by Laurentius’ appearance.

‘I suppose that you are a soldier, so it will do,’ he says as a matter of greeting, ‘but you could have dressed up a little bit for the occasion.’

Laurentius, who has spent the entirety of his adult life in a uniform, is not very heartened by that. ‘Perhaps if you would share with me what the occasion is, I would have,’ he says, rather prickly.

‘Oh do not sulk,’ Gaius says, waving to join him as he starts to walk toward the Palatine, ‘I had to make several social calls to arrange this at all: I was not sure, you see, but your appearance in the capital has changed a number of things.’

‘I don’t suppose you would care to explain as to what those things are,’ Laurentius says, lightly.

‘Not here, no - we are heading to a house of an acquittance, you see, not too far from here at all, and we can speak there,’ Gaius says, with all the authority of an older brother. ‘Meanwhile, I hear you have had the pleasure of spending some time in the company of our beloved father of the fatherland. Do tell me, how do you bear to speak to him?’

‘…Gaius, what is this about?’

‘Are you not quite popular with the dictator himself?’

‘He asked me to come a few days ago, that is true: since I have Temerarius, he has deemed it important to secure my support,’ he says, with some reluctance.

‘I personally would find that hard to stomach: you see, when father slit his wrists, I was waiting outside the doors, to assist him in case of any difficulty. He spoke to me as he bled out: he wanted to converse about the merits of Cato’s history, and so we did, until he fell silent. Then, I waited for half an hour or so, to be sure he was dead, before I could call in the slaves: I could smell the blood from where I stood, but I remained.’

‘…Gaius - I mourned father, you do know that.’

‘Of course you did: but you were away for so long, I wonder if you remember his face at all. He was so pale when they carried him out - all the blood loss, you see.’

‘And what do you want me to says?’ Laurenties replied, muted, as they pass the slender columns of the temple of the divine twins. ‘They surrounded us at Actium, you do realise: some ships started to retreat, and the rest panicked then, and they had begun to throw firebrands on our decks. I had ten ships under my command: three of them caught on fire then, and their men started to jump out and tried to get to the ones that were still intact, but we could not stop to wait for them, and so they either drowned or burned together with the ships. I tried to lead the ones I had left around, ramming our way out, but Pompey called us back to cover his retreated: and so we did, and he got out, while they set the rest of our ships on fire, and I watched my oarsmen die as they sat there, serving as a live shield for our general, and I could not do a single thing about it.’

Gaius turns to him, and nods.

‘I wanted to see if you remembered,’ he says. ‘This is the Rome he has given us: blood, and fire, and death.’

And Laurentius says nothing.

\---

‘I have been led to know you two know each other,’ Gaius says, after they come to one of the houses on the slopes of the Palatine and enter.

‘Hello, Laurentius: I am glad you have decided to join us,’ Longinus says, stepping forward from a veritable crowd that has gathered in the atrium. ‘Gaius, pleasure to see you - how fares your wife?’

‘The pregnancy has been easy on her, thank you for asking, senator,’ Gaius says. ‘Would you care to introduce my brother to the company?’

‘Oh, of course: these two are Cimber and Casca,’ and two men in the purple toga of the senate nod at him, ‘and Cato here, is of course my dear friend - I told him you read your beast the works of his great-great grandfather, and he was immensely amused by this,’ and the next man smiles at him and says, ‘our father were well-acquainted with each other - I am very pleased to make your acquittance,’ and Laurentius recalls that the man’s own adopted father stabbed himself rather than live under the dictator’s rule.

‘Galba, right there, Caecilius,’ and Longinus rattles out a name after name of senators, and tribunes, and generals, ending the list with, ‘and of course, my brother, and then the Brutii: Marcus Junius here has a dragon of his own, you should get along.’

And Laurentius is absolutely emotionless as he exchanges greetings with the last man, because he might be naïve, but he is not a fool. There is not a whole lot of reasons why such a company of distinguished men might assemble and discuss ‘liberty’, in a time like this.

‘That would be that, then: Felix, make sure we are not disturbed,’ Longinus nods to one of his slaves. ‘Brutus, if you would?’

‘Certainly,’ the man in question says, and the entire company assembled around him. ‘My friends: I am glad to see all of you here today, and in such numbers. You give me a reason to believe that Rome yet lives: that she is still free and proud, and not ready to submit herself to yet another tyrant.’

‘No, she will not!,’ says firmly one of the elderly senators, whose names Laurentius cannot recalls, and the other murmur in assent.

‘Not even five hundred years ago, own ancestor, the distinguished Lucius Junius Brutus, was called to Lucretia. She laid naked in her own family home, having been assaulted by the proud tyrant Tarquinus: trembling, she told Brutus what the king has done to her, and then she stabbed herself with a dagger, for she could not bear the dishonour done to her and her family.’

The statement is followed by boos and shouts, but the young Brutus continues.

‘Indeed, I must confess that I find myself ashamed when I think of Lucretia: a mere woman, she has shown far more courage than many of our best and bravest men in face of tyranny. No, do not clamber! - we have let the Punic upstart ravage our republic, and stood by silent for too long. But this is what Brutus did, when he saw Lucretia: he took the dagger from her breast, and raised it, and called it for the death of the tyrant,’ and he takes out a dagger as well and holds it so that others can see it. ‘Well, I will not stand by any longer - I, too, raise a dagger tonight, and I ask you to take your own, just like Brutus did five hundred years ago, and kill a tyrant.’

And they are shouting now, and Gaius snarls, ‘yes!’, and Laurentius finds that he cannot breathe, and Longinus, standing by the young Brutus, meets his eyes.

‘The time has come, brothers: Caesar intends to leave the city soon, so we must act now - or stay silent forever, shaming the memory of our ancestors. The ides are approaching: March is for settling debts, and so we shall settle ours on this day. We will meet at the Senate. Cimber will present him with a petition, and you will come upon him - and when he gives us a signal by tearing down his toga, we will strike, a dagger after dagger, as brothers and as equals. Are you with me, then? Are you ready to kill a king?,’ and they shout, and Laurentius cannot do anything but open his mouth and shout as well, for he knows he is being watched - and perhaps for other reasons, as well.

\---

Longinus finds him after, a satisfied smile on his face, as the others settle down for a feast.

‘He intends to call on you, you know,’ he says, and Laurentius replies, ‘he already did - he invited me for dinner, tonight,’ and Longinus says, ‘oh, he is like a child with a new toy, is he not? Distract him, then - if he means to take you to the senate with you, you will be ready, but either way, keep him amused until then,’ and Laurentius gains the disturbing feeling that he is talking about something else than Longinus was, but he nods nevertheless.

‘There will be a place waiting for you, then, when we are through - would you like to be an admiral, perhaps? Or a governor? We will find something, I am sure,’ Longinus says, and Laurentius nods, feeling utterly numb inside, and Longinus leaves him with a pat on his back.

And of course that he cannot leave, so he settles down to enjoy the food beside his brother, who talking to Cato. He asks him to pass one of the golden plates: Laurentius does.

\---

‘Does mother know about this?,’ he asks as they are returning - Gaius gets a litter for him, of all things, to carry him back to Campus Martius, since the city after the dark is not a pleasant place to walk around at all, and he swallows down the protests.

‘Of course not, don’t be mad - and neither does Secundus, so I would thank you to keep yourself quiet around him,’ Gaius says, dismissively. ‘Indeed, it would be best not to talk about it at all.’

‘Indeed,’ Laurentius says, and bids his brother farewell.

\----

‘Laurentius - I thought you were occupied tonight,‘ the dictator says, looking perfectly put-together even though it is the middle of the night. He smiles.

Laurentius, who arrived back to the Campus Martius but a half an hour ago, promptly changed from his military clothes into an ordinary toga, and then walked back up on the Palatine straight to the dictator’s house, does not return the expression.

‘I’ve been meaning to invite you to take a walk with me - we’ve done quite a bit of work on my forum, and I have thought to show you around, since it was of course your Temerarius’ idea that lies behind some of the design - we have much enlarged the porticoes, so that dragons can walk through, although we could not make it big enough for a capitoline, I’m afraid. They’ll have to restrain themselves to the plaza for now, although if this experiment goes along well, why, who knows-’ and then Laurentius cannot bear it anymore, and he says, ‘they will kill you on the ides.’

And the man stops, and his smile falters.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘It’s Casca, and the Brutii, Cassius Longinus, Cato, someone called Cimber, I do not know him,’ and he says all the names he remembers, and then, ‘I am afraid I do not remember the rest, but my brother will. He has joined as well.’

The dictator has fallen silent by now, so Laurentius speaks again, terrified by the silence.

‘They met tonight - I am sure they have been meeting for quite some time already, but they decided this evening - it will be on the ides, in the senate, Cimber will grab your toga - and they take their daggers and murder you there,’ and he falls silent again.

The dictator looks at him and says, tenderly, ‘Laurentius: you father slit his wrists because of me, and now, you must know I will have to ask your brother to do the same - why would you tell me this?’

‘You were wrong to declare yourself a dictator for life - no matter what you might say,’ Laurentius says, truthfully, ‘that is not a title that should be given to any man, and especially not to you. But-’ and there he hesitates, and then he says, ‘they kept speaking about the republic, and about honour, and liberty, and loyalty. But there was nothing noble in it. They will murder you in the senate, striking from the shadows to turn the great institution of our people into a slaughterhouse - and they will do so of their own volition and for their own greed, and then fight over who should replace you.’

‘You were right, imperator,’ he says, then. ‘What I want, what I have always wanted, is to serve Rome that I can believe in. And I have found that for all of the blood yours has been bathed in, one can still find some hope in it,’ and he breathes in.

‘The one they intend to build will have nothing at all.’

The dictator looks at him, something strange in his eyes, and then he steps forward, and catches him by his shoulder with one of his hands, the other clasping his cheek, and he says, gently, terrifyingly, ‘Laurentius-’ and he shivers and he says - ‘Caesar - I have given you too much already: do not ask me for more,’ and the man lets his hands fall.

‘Napoleone,’ he says, ‘my name is Napoleone.’

And Laurentius turns around and flees.

\---

(‘Laurentius,’ Temerarius asks sleepily when he returns to the camp, ‘what are you doing?’, and he does not look him in the eyes, but simply climbs on his back, and says, ‘Temerarius - please, just take me away from here for a few hours, I beg you-’ and the dragon breathes in and out, and then he rises, gently, and takes off towards the skies.)

\---

When they return, Rome is in uproar.

‘Where have you been, damn you, Laurentius,' general Muratius demands of him immediately after they land back at the camp and are promptly brought before him by an immensely terrified commander, ‘this city has descended into utter madness and you just gallivant off somewhere with your dragon - the senate has conspired to murder my brother, and the people have taken up arms: we have tried to stop them from breaking the senatorial houses, but they got to the Cassii and lynched every single one of them - absolutely horrific, the youngest boy was six - ’ and then he realizes something, and says, in a manner he probably thinks is gentle, ‘your brother is dead.’

And Laurentius - knew this, but it still hurts to hear it.

‘I am sorry, Laurentius - Napoleone asked me to go to his house first and make sure no one laid their hands on him, but by the time I arrived, he had killed himself,’ he says, and Laurentius closes his eyes, and thinks, of course he would do that.

‘Are the children safe?,’ he asks, instead, and Muratius nods. ‘We took them up on the Palatine - your mother is there as well, and his wife - ’ and he grimaces, ‘she stabbed me with one of her pins when we asked her to go with us, and we had to subdue her, for she would not leave her husband’s body, but she is fine -’ and Laurentius nods, wanting to look away, but he does not.

‘What are my orders?’ he says, and Muratius laughs at him, incredulously, ‘orders - you don’t have any orders, except for the incredibly simple task of not abandoning your post! Jupiter’s balls, Laurentius, if you had to take yourself for a nice flight, you could have at least told someone that you did that - no one had any clue where you were, or your dragon, I thought my brother intends to murder me-’ and then he stops, because he is no idiot, and looks at him.

‘You knew,’ he says, then.

‘I did,’ Laurentius says. There is not much else.

‘Did you - you told him.’

And he nods, because he cannot bear to say anything else, and Muratius takes step forward and clasps his hand, and looks at him, and then says, ‘thank you,’ and his voice almost breaks.

Laurentius does not say a word: Muratius is looking at him, and then he turns and says, ‘there is not much to do now - we have soldiers stationed at most of the houses, and the ones who are still alive have been taken into custody - of course the people are rioting, there is not much we can do about it, but,’ and his voice is very hard, ‘I must say I do not know we should not let them riot.’

And Laurentius nods, and walks away: and outside the Martian fields, the city screams for blood.

\---

It takes more than three days for the rioting to stop.

In the end, the dictator himself - or so Laurentius is told - has to make no less than four public appearances, the first one of which almost sees him mauled by the crowds, who cry in joy to see their imperator - but after he appears again, and again, and reassures the city repeatedly that not only he lives, but is in perfect health, and has dealt with the conspirators summarily, he finally manages to convince the Roman citizens to stop trying to set their own city on fire.

By the time it is done, most of the men Laurentius met four days ago are dead: some of them take their own lives, Cato among them, while others try to flee to the country and are cut down by the soldiers: they, just like the people of the capital, do not take the idea of their leader being murdered well at all. Others - including Brutus himself - are taken to the Capitoline, where the dictator meets them: later, he finds out that some of them cursed him, and other begged for mercy, and others stood, silent, as they accepted their sentences.

(Brutus, Laurentius learns, was to be sent to exile: he nodded when Caesar handed out the sentence, and then took out a dagger that he still had on himself, and stabbed himself.)

The worst fate befalls the few families that the crowd gets to first: Longinus and his brother are among those. Laurentius makes every effort to find out the details of what happened to those and feels sick when he learns what they did to the women (and the children). This, he refuses to share with Temerarius, even when the dragon begs him.

Only few of those who committed those acts are found: and these, the dictator has executed.

He and Temerarius stand guard over Viscellinus. It took three other capitolines to subdue him once he learned his master was dead, and the poor thing wailed in fury and grief for hours, thrashing around and trying to break free of the chains they ended up putting him in. Temerarius tries to speak to him: but Viscellinus, golden, and great, and terrible, says, ‘My commander is dead, and his house is in ruin: what could you possibly say to change that, Persian?’, and he falls silent and retreats.

Thankfully, only few of the conspirators themselves commanded dragons: of those, only one manages to flee, a vulcan belonged to the Brutii, and there is no telling where she has gone. Laurentius hopes, for her sake, that it is somewhere far where no Roman will ever set foot.

His mother sends him a note a day into the chaos, absolutely frantic and demanding to know if he safe: he takes it, reads it, and finds that he cannot, in good conscience, write her, or indeed, look her in the eyes. He asks the courier to tell her he is fine, and does not go to see her.

\---

(‘We could go away,’ Temerarius suggest the first night after they return. ‘I could take you and go - to the north, perhaps, beyond Gaul, or down the Nile to the end of the world, where no Roman has ever gone. Just say the word, Laurentius - if it would make you happier, I would go without a second thought.’

‘Thank you, my dearest,’ he says, quietly, and he does not say anything else.)

\---

Muratius asks him, a week later, to come to his tent at the camp.

Laurentius goes, and he is completely unsurprised when he arrives to see Napoleone pacing instead.

‘Your family is at the Palatine, still,’ he says. ‘I do not wish them to go back to the city, not while the people have not calmed down completely yet: indeed, it would be best if they could go to the countryside - give me a word and I will send them.’

‘Please,’ Laurentius says, quietly, and Napoleone nods.

‘I understand completely if you do not wish to see me - indeed, I have thought much about whether to subject you to my presence at all, but I am not a good enough man to stay away without seeing you at least once,’ he says, suddenly, and he clasps his hands. ‘I owe you a great deal, Laurentius - I would name you consul, if I did not know that would make you miserable: indeed, I have so far kept quiet about the role you played in taking apart the conspiracy, for I suspect you would not welcome the attention that would bring you at all. But only say a word, and you will be celebrated as the hero of the state.’

‘I did not commit any heroic act: I only did what my conscience asked of me, and for that, I do not deserve, or want, any praise,’ Laurentius says, and Napoleone smiles, in a way that makes him look older than he is.

‘That brings me no joy to hear, you understand. Nevertheless - if I can give you anything at all, it is yours. Do you wish to retire to the countryside with your Temerarius, and spend the rest of your life in comfort, studying literature? Then it is done. Do you still desire to serve Rome? You can do that as a governor, or a praetor, or an admiral - and you can go to Persia, as well, with my army, and serve under Muratius or whoever else you want. Indeed, you do not have to meet me ever again, if you wish so: and if you were to ask to leave Rome altogether, and go to any place in the world, I will let you go and provide you with anything you could ask for.’

‘I cannot - Temerarius is needed in the war effort,’ Laurentius says, but Napoleone shakes his head, and he says, ‘Rome has survived so far without an atash - it will be able to go on without him.’

Laurentius stands there, looking at the man who has his father’s blood on his hands, and thinks of Gaius, and of his mother, and of the children left fatherless by his actions: and he thinks of Temerarius, and the way Napoleone described his Rome of immigrants and then went and built it: and he thinks of Longinus asking him to amuse the tyrant in return for an office, and Rome burning.

He takes a step towards Napoleone.

‘Is that it, then?,’ he says, with a terrifying sort of certainty. ‘Have you come to thank me for betraying my brother, the legacy of my father, and the trust of some of the noblest men of the state, and ask me to pick me price?’

And Napoleone smiles wryly.

‘If you were a man who could do such a thing, I would be dead and Brutus would be naming you an admiral right now. No - I came, because you challenged me to be a better man, and then did it again, and asked me to imagine Rome that would be worth the loyalty and service you have given it: and I find myself reluctant to believe that I could a built a place like that without you.’

Laurentius looks at him.

‘You think me a far worthier man than I am,’ he says, then.

‘No,’ Napoleone says, softly, ‘I don’t think I do at all.’

And Laurentius - slowly, deliberately - goes to one knee, and he says, ‘imperator,’ and Napoleone’s breath hitches, and he says, ‘Laurentius-’ in a way that is both a plea and lament, and he looks up, and he says, ‘my name is Liam.’

Napoleone takes his face in his hands then, his palms burning, and Laurentius rises and meets him halfway.

\---

Three weeks into the campaign in the East, Temerarius is lounging luxuriously in the last rays of the sun as the army builds a camp for the night, his scales glistening beautifully in the dusk: he rolls over to scrape his hide against the sand, for he has naturally taken to the desert, unlike the ever complaining capitolines or furies, and Laurentius watches him fondly. He has insisted on wearing the pendant Laurentius commissioned for him every evening, and it suits him very well, even if it a rather silly thing to wear for a dragon on a military campaign: the other commanders have however assured Laurentius that it is perfectly normal, and as long as he does not take with him to battle, it ought to do no harm to him at all.

‘So do you intend to marry, Laurentius, when we return to Rome?,’ the dragon says, out of the sudden.

‘I beg your pardon,’ Laurentius says.

‘Maximus said that you will have to marry and have children, since we dragon live very long: and you are of course the very best commander I could wish for, and I am glad to have you, but I would not want to be left alone - and besides, the officers keep talking about their wives and how they miss them here, and I would not want you to miss out on that,’ Temerarius says, very earnestly.

‘We could marry you to Paulla, I suppose,’ and the voice is full of laughter, ‘she likes you well enough, and is bored of her husband anyway.’

Laurentius turns around, and he frowns.

‘I will most certainly not marry your sister,’ he says, and Napoleone shakes his head in disbelief.

‘But you adore Paulla,’ he says, ‘you always blush so marvellously when you speak to her: it is very endearing.’

‘Oh,’ says Temerarius thoughtfully. ‘I supposed you could do that, even if she is a bit too flippant for my taste: but you would be very important if you married her, and then everyone would have to pay attention to you, even more than they do now, which would be a fine thing, since then everyone would know what an excellent person you are - yes, I do like the idea.’

‘I am important enough as it is, my dear,’ Laurentius says, firmly, ‘and will not be marrying anyone, least of all Paulla, even if she is an - impressive - woman,’ he says with some effort.

He suspects Napoleone is laughing at him behind his back.

‘Well, I suppose it is your decision,’ Temerarius says, in a manner that implies that he personally thinks it is not his decision at all. ‘But I do think it would be good for you.’

‘I am perfectly content as I am, thank you, Temerarius,’ Laurentius says.

Napoleone steps forward and comes to rest his hand gently on Laurentius’s shoulder. ‘Do not be afraid, Temerarius: we shall make sure your Laurentius is well and in high spirits, even if he does not consent to marrying my dear sister.’

Laurentius, slightly mortified, accepts the indulgent ‘I suppose’ from the dragon, and then glares at Napoleone.

‘Would you care to join me in my tent for dinner, my dear Laurentius?,’ he says, and he blushes, involuntarily, and says, ‘I would _not_.’

‘You are very cruel to me,’ Napoleone says, and reaches to guide him to his tent anyway. ‘No wives, then - just as well, for I too still mourn my Io’s decision to part her ways with me. Cleopatra won’t have me either,’ he sighs, ‘heartless woman that she is - so I suppose we will just have to be enough for each other, for now, won’t we, Liam?’

Laurentius, who ought to be used to it by now, but is nevertheless blushing fiercely still, permits himself a polite ‘I suppose,’ and follows him.

Before them lie the great cities of Persia, and Ctesiphon, glimmering in the desert: and yet further away is Rome, glorious Rome, with her brick buildings and huts being torn down and replaced by marble and gold, all while first dragons slowly venture into the city, learning to keep accounts, and paint, and build new houses. Laurentius does not know yet whether it will work out: indeed, there has been some reluctance to these new projects Napoleone has initiated, but the men left behind to supervise them have dove into their work with significant resolve. Some of them are patricians, but some of them, he knows, have been recruited from the army and from the workshops of Rome. And who knows: maybe they will triumph, here in the Syrian dessert, and maybe their forces will be defeated by the Persians after all: maybe Rome will soon be filled with men and dragons of all origins and statuses, finding their way towards a new kind of an empire, and maybe she will descend into civil war once more and he will come to regret his choices after all.

But Laurentius finds that for the first time in years, he dares to hope.

**Author's Note:**

> Caesar did beat Pompey at Pharsalus, not Actium, as you probably have realised by now: but given the fact that Pharsalus is fifty kilometres inland, it would be rather hard to conduct a naval battle there, so I had tweaked the campaign somehow.
> 
> \- capitolines - largest species, golden: a symbol of Rome and her empire  
> \- vulcans - copper, very fierce, a middle weight: a Roman species  
> \- mercurians - copper or gold, rarely with silver streaks, smallest Roman breed  
> \- furies - slender, grey, extraordinarily sharp claws: originally from Macedonia  
> \- marmarians - famously graceful, the colour of porphyry: from the coast of Black Sea  
> \- victories - lightly built but large, sandy, a Carthaginian species appropriated during the Punic wars  
> \- sylvans - green, extraordinarily small, of Northern Gaul  
> \- massalians - strikingly blue, small, good swimmers, from Southern Gaul  
> \- atash - black with streaks of dark red, sizeable: flame-breathing breed of Persia


End file.
